Why I Had To Piss In The Bathtub

30 Aug

This week has been kind of craptastic- I mean that both literally and figuratively. Aside from having to dig 63 years of other people’s crap out of the old toilet, I managed to fall off of the back patio, wearing only my idea of pajamas. Thank goodness the kids were in school – otherwise they may have received a lesson in what not to wear outside. Awesome- swollen bruised ankles are sexy. My sprained pride, however, not so much.We have wrapped up the always fun unpacking part of our move to New City, and have stumbled onto the home improvement comedy act part. I totally dig this part- having flipped a few houses and fixed up rental properties I can tell you I heart power tools, landscaping make overs and all of the mess that goes with a fixer upper. We just built book shelves that look like they were built into this house 63 years ago. The Man and I did it in a day without bickering and trying to nail gun each other into silence.

No threats of break ups or domestic violence where lobbed during this build!

Perfect right? We were feeling all kinds of epic! There was tons of  fist bumping  and  ‘you’re awesome, Baby” celebration going on! Woo hoo our little 1948 bungalow is going to rock and make all of the other houses hide in the shade from shame and jealousy. So we go about the business of clean up and then we’re going out to dinner because we deserve some rock star treatment. So we start taking the tools, compressor and materials out to the giant shrine to testosterone shed that The Man had built-in the back yard. Seriously, it’s a man garage and is about two stories tall. There’s a giant don’t tread on me flag & nekkid Harley chicks on the inside and a giant warning no trespassing sign on the outside. Hope the neighbors can’t read it from their side of the fence. So I commence to take crap outside and promptly fall off the step, twist my ankle on the uneven rock and land on my ass (my ass that is only covered by cute little panties) all while managing to look like all of the The Three Stooges at once. I break my fall with my wrist which was a totally fucktarded stunt considering those fucking rocks are sharp. I look up and catch The Man mid giggle , he sees that this may be the part of the project that I possibly hit him with a hammer and promptly helps me up to console my scratched and bruised bootie, twisted ankle and sprained pride.

The sign & the offending porch that will soon be ripped out.

Last night we decide to reseat the 63 year old toilet because it’s all wonky and tries to buck you off while copping a squat. This should be an easy 30 minute job. Drain, turn off water, unbolt, replace wax ring, reattach and turn on water. Eleven horrific hours and no less than six trips to Home Depot later, we have a new toilet. First, it’s a toilet from 1948 and trying to use today’s hardware to fix it is like trying to write a blog without the interweb. It’s not happening. On the last and final attempt to salvage the “vintage” commode, we decide to remove any obstructions that are preventing the new wax ring from seating. The Man lifts the fucking toilet and I get the job of reaching in and clearing debris. No, not debris and old wax rings. But there is black, oozing, sticky, horrifying muck that smells like dead rotting road kill ass. I remove it all and promptly run to the other side of the house to wash my hands, breath in fresh air and avoid barfing my taco dinner up all over the newly stained hard woods. The toilet will still not seat so we go buy a new one and commence to making the bathroom functioning again. And because falling on my ass and hand scooping shit wasn’t bad enough, I had to pee in the bathtub because our one and only bathroom had a nonfunctional toilet for eleven hours. If you read this blog, you know the cat follows me to the bathroom all of the time. So I couldn’t discretely pee in the bath tub and preserve some measure of pride and humanity because staring up at me was the cat with a judgemental WTF look and The Man was trying desperately to catch me in the act. With a camera. Thankfully, I don’t have a picture of that to share!

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6 Responses to “Why I Had To Piss In The Bathtub”

  1. howtoskinnyacat @ blogspot August 31, 2011 at 8:40 PM #

    Ugs you can always shower in the yard hehehee

  2. howtoskinnyacat @ blogspot August 31, 2011 at 8:40 PM #

    LOL Claire! I know- the cat is going to request outside seating if I keep peeing in the tub! Believe me-if anything other than pee gave the bat signal- I was so going to Starbuck's! I amnever pooping in a trash bag. Except that one time- I was drunk (er).

  3. howtoskinnyacat @ blogspot August 31, 2011 at 8:38 PM #

    Damn, Mandy- he might actually like that! LOL!Then we can go get drinks and leave him home!

  4. ~Claire~ August 31, 2011 at 5:18 AM #

    OH holy shit snacks!!! At least all you had to do was pee!!! Can you imagine??? Nevermind, don't go there, the cat thinks little enough of you as it is!!!!

  5. Amanda Absolutely August 31, 2011 at 2:15 AM #

    If The Man takes of picture of you peeing in the tub, I will personally come back to New City and bitch slap him! LOL.

  6. christina August 30, 2011 at 10:37 PM #

    I promise to shower befor i stay over. LOL

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